Summary:
'I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel
I am all the things they might have said to you' - Crane Wives-Never Love an Anchor
Lady Alcina Dimitrescu was not known for her kindness. The people of her domain knew that to a lethal extent. Even so, she wasn't loveless; her daughters were her world, all wrapped up in black and blood. To rule over mortals was her calling, but to protect her daughters, was her purpose.
After all, she was once human and with former humanity came the fetid entangling of emotion.
Love.
That damnable little voice whispered in her ear, a reminder of the death-bound meat she used to be. It survived the Cadou's influence, made her adopt three younglings, it made her do things -say things- that went against her sadistic reputation.
The pen nib broke.
In her bedroom once more, Lady Dimitrescu was jotting down the latest results from her stress test on the experiment by candle and firelight.
Fauna.
The pen breaks in half from her grip.
After the carriage ride, she had snubbed the experiment completely, as if that divot of compassion hadn't sprung in the first place. She had turned on her heel, tossing some comment about Fauna's newest man-stink, before walking away to get the village waste off her dress.
Casual comments with such a nasty bite were in her nature; niceties were not reserved for the riff-raff.
Even so, Lady Dimitrescu had looked over her shoulder for a split second to see the experiment already limping her way to another room, completely unphased by the unpleasant banter the Lady flung.
For a moment, she thought the bloody bandit would remain or at least make some hateful retort. Instead, she roamed with turbulence in those barren eyes, banishing whatever peace perforated their time in the carriage. Such a reaction was expected, especially following her insult. After all, their reason for being around each other was spawned from torture, crippling and capture.
She just didn't expect it to make her feel…a touch disappointed.
But only a touch.
The scathing verbal battles were different; stubbornly defiant instead of servile.
She's proving herself to be more than just a mindless savage, isn't she? Showing her kindness was the right thing to do.
A frown pulled those scarlet lips down.
Affection of any kind was a reward, an incentive, not something so easily gained.
Too much love ruined Daniela and Cassandra after all.
Reaching for another pen, she began documenting again, pouring over the book in concentration, exiling every moral to ensure her goal was unhindered. The wild woman was tough. She had ferally torn through a man's ribcage while riddled with fresh wounds and even survived the starvation test; drinking deep of the man's heart to sate her carnal hunger.
A dot of ink bleeds into the paper as she stops writing, looking at the flourished penmanship; a book of clinical horrors.
In this land, monsters were born and those who showed mercy or love were devoured like cattle. But the experiment refused her fate, prying open the very teeth of beasts to claw her way to life. Fauna had stated that you can't kill what's already dead, but a corpse only knew how to lay down; she knew how to rise.
Lady Dimitrescu puts the pen down, rubbing her temples to quell whatever went on in her head.
She's already broken, if you tear her down, you'll tear her apart. You can't really be that greedy and selfish?
Is it even possible to be forgiven at this point?
She didn't expect to be forgiven nor did she want to be.
You're not a God and you never were. Godhood is for the inhuman but you still remember, don't you, Alcina?
Rolling her lips together, Lady Dimitrescu looks back into the vanity and to see those cold grey eyes look back; she was eternally beautiful, eternally everything and yet…
And yet…
Her mind was still stubbornly clinging to whatever scrap of humanity was left.
And she hated it with a passion.
Heartless, bitter, cruel. All of those things had to be true or else there'd be nothing left.
A monster doesn't raise daughters with such care, but that errant strand of human life stitched itself into her immortal mind and refused to let go. Giving the experiment her handkerchief was a mistake; a slip of the mind, a weakness. Kindness was an incentive.
There was a reputation to uphold, a dominion to dominate.
She was growing soft.
You will be overthrown.
Why did Cassandra have to keep that damn handkerchief? Within that carriage, the sight of it alone made you weak.
Grey eyes looked back at her from the mirror, sparking with the barest hint of mortal fire.
'Miss D, you're on in 5!'
She balls her fist.
A shard of silver slips from the mirror, her closed hand parting the seams of glass with a livid punch. Anger bled into her eyes, colouring them a sickly yellow. Gilded gold, for that's all it was, a coat of paint on her everlasting thorns.
Her mirror image fractures into spiderwebbed ugliness.
"Mother, are you alright?" a voice rings from in the room as the door flies open, a buzz of insects heralds Bela's frantic footsteps.
The eldest in the brood looks upon her mother's wrath before taking a step back, allowing space where it was needed. It was rare for her mother to lose her temper and when it happened, it was…scary. She could be strict, bemused and gleefully wicked but anger was reserved for the greatest misdeeds. Daniela only saw a fraction of it when the experiment came, a moment she still spoke of with nervous whispers.
And now, it was Bela's turn to witness the fraction in question.
Was it her turn to fall from grace?
Lady Dimitrescu pulls her hand back, fine silvery dust smattered on her gloves before shaking it off. She turns to her daughter, eyes flaring with fiery gold before it settles, bleeding back into ashen grey.
"I'm quite alright," she says solidly as if the broken mirror were a mirage, "Inform the glassmaker that he has another task as soon as you can," her eyes flick to the boarded window, still rattling from the wind, muttering, "The last one was much better at his job."
"Of course, mother," Bela replies with a short nod, "I will see to it post-haste."
A solemn look passes through Bela's face for barely a second before it's reigned in, stifled under her upbringing.
The last glassmaker…
She snaps out of it quickly, bringing her full attention back to her mother. There's something strange in the matriarch's look, a tangle of rigid formality and…turmoil. Bela doesn't query, she only observes.
"Come here," Lady Dimitrescu commands with a quiet voice.
Bela prepares herself mentally before walking towards her mother, a sparse swarm of flies rippling to propel her. Even sitting down, she cast a looming shadow that Bela feared would bite her throat.
Instead, two arms encased in white silk reach out, pulling Bela into her mother's embrace.
Hold onto that feeling, without it, there'll be nothing left.
You're going to ruin her. Your love will devour her because that's all you know, isn't that right, Lady Dimitrescu?
"Do you feel loved, little one?" the matriarch whispers, stroking her daughter's hair fondly; her humanity tethering to this blonde facsimile of a person. Poisonous thoughts swirl in Lady Dimitrescu's mind but she refused to let any burden her daughter's shoulder.
Bela blinked a few times in surprise. Hugs were…not so common either. They were reserved for rewards or fleeting moments.
Was this one of them?
"...Yes," she replies carefully, resting her head on her mother's chest, accepting the rare gift.
They stay that way for a little while, the firelight twisting shapes on their clothes, folding over them with a warmth that long since abandoned the castle.
"Good," Lady Dimitrescu says, pulling away to brace both hands on her daughter's shoulders, "Do your duties, Bela," a flash of deep red bolts through the matriarch's head, "And ensure the experiment is fed today. Humans require more…substantial meals than we do. See to her yourself."
Bela nods again with partial hesitance at having to be around the mortal. But her mother spoke the truth, humans needed to be fed or else they died, like plants withering in the dark. The thought sobered Bela, plunging her in and out quickly from a morbid feeling she refused to let overcome her.
Her mother's favour was on the line, she would not become Daniela and Cassandra.
She would not become a failure.
"I will not disappoint," Bela replies, lingering in her mother's arms.
"You seldom do, Bela dear, now go." Lady Dimitrescu says, releasing her gentle grip.
Your love will crush her as it did the others.
No. She's strong.
They're all strong.
A group of flies fracture Bela's lower half before the rest of her follows, gliding over the floors and out the door before closing it, leaving her mother in the silence of candles. No movements are made. Lady Dimitrescu straightens, smoothing down a stray curl of hair, tucking it under her hat, thinking. Other things required her attention, things other than her daughters. At this point, she had to keep going with the experiment, the promise made to Mother Miranda was already set in stone.
This was Fauna's fate.
Reaching for her quellazaire Lady Dimitrescu plucked it from the ashtray to take a small puff. The smoke curled out like fingers severed one by one and she watched it travel upwards into a bleak heaven. Thoughtlessly, she put it back, her attention pulled elsewhere.
Rising, the noblewoman walked to the broken window, peering through the unblemished uppermost part. The full moon still hung heavy in the sky with stars peppering its slow ascent. A white light filtered through the glass, bathing Lady Dimitrescu in an eerie glow that accentuated her already ghostly skin. An intense shadow dripped down her hat, cutting her profile with contrast; bleeding the edges of moonlight into its darkness. She didn't know what Fauna saw in the moon, but…it was nice to look up for a change.
Moon river, wider than a mile.
I'm crossing you in style someday.
The tune started as a thought, then an action. Lady Dimitrescu hummed the song quietly, pondering. Kindness was a reward but to Fauna…to that woman, she gave it too easily.
Because she earned it. Not by proving herself a worthy experiment, but by thoughtfulness to Cassandra.
Conflicting opinions clashed in Lady Dimitrescu's head but through the chaos, she heard a haunting melody. It carved its way through her decayed heart, up into her mind. She froze, petrified at the melody rising to cloud all of her senses.
A song she believed was eradicated from her soul till now.
All it took was to hear that barbarian's music and already, the ghosts of the past shuffled around her. It has been a long time since the piano was played, and from the dustclouds of its keys, rose the forgotten pieces of who she once was.
Her gaze lingered on the moon in silent horror before shifting to a tall wardrobe near the bed. Polished wood glinted in the firelight, beckoning, pleading to be seen with more than a passing glance. Hesitance was not a trait she ever indulged. Only the powerless gave notice of such cowardice.
But the song played louder in her warring mind the more rancid thoughts she had.
And won.
Moonglow leeched the venom from Lady Dimitrescu's blood as she moved away from the window. Before she could stop herself; the armoire handle called to her hand. The tension in her eyes was gone as she pulled it open, breaching the long silence that plagued the inside; a light dust cloud circled out as she did. Within the gilded shell was a variety of items, all left to rot in the belly of time. Piles of records sat one on top of the other like beloved cards in an abandoned shop; the record player within had seen better days as well.
There were many more items, but only one focus.
A wooden music box, sat beneath a layer of dust, stuck in stasis.
You should have crushed that thing long ago.
Deep breaths sent the thought tumbling away as Lady Dimitrescu pinched the tip of her leather glove, removing it with a stupified grace. Never once did her eyes leave the music box; bare fingers brushed the chipping polish, wiping away years of disregard. Divots of leaves and rapiers met her touch as she circled her fingernail over the little carved flower; the Dimitrescu crest, not exact, not perfect, but greater than any replication she knew of.
You're making a mistake.
Withdrawing her hand, she plucks the other glove off, tossing it on the floor in uncommon carelessness. Too busy in the daze, too lost.
Lady Dimitrescu lifts the box as though cradling fragile bird bones, walking around with no purpose while she opened the lid. Mirrored back panels met her sullen stare, grey putty, softened by memory; her eyes were unrecognizable to the monster she'd become. A silver piano charm on a thin rotating pole sat in the middle of the box surrounded by trinkets from a time before…everything.
Do it.
The knob beneath the box turns, gripped softly as if it would break in her large fingers. Something she knew she could do with great ease. Closing her eyes, Lady Dimitrescu stands in the partial gloom, listening more than she's done in years. Dulcet and soothing, the song drifts through the air and she loses herself, humming quietly along with the song.
A light rain falls, drizzling from grey clouds before they become a storm of stoic sobbing. Silent tears roll down Lady Dimitrescu's cheeks in expressionless grief, threatening to smudge her eyeshadow, soaking into the old wood with every pain she thought was gone.
It was the first song she ever truly desired to play; pumping crystalline harmony into her rotten heart. It meant more than the discordant classical noise she forced herself to learn; the first song she fell in love with. An ache beyond any agony ran scratches inside her chest, but her features never budged; an emotion so overwhelming, she felt nothing. Beneath the box, Alcina felt the rough engraving, knowing what it said, hearing the words as if the past whispered in her ear.
'For my Crystal Lily,
Love, Annie'
Maybe for just a while longer -just a little while longer- she could lay in this moment before it was cannibalised. A small sob escapes Alcina's blood-red lips, muffled quickly by her hand; a moment of weakness buried under tyrannical secrecy.
Chestnut hair whips around in her memory and with gritted teeth, she snaps the music box closed; caustic saffron bleeding into her eyes, shifting despair to composure.
Enough.
"Fucking…"
The curse slipped out of Fauna as she brought her pricked finger to her mouth. The pain was minimal compared to the rest of her body; more startled than hurt. Seated on the windowsill in her bedroom, she got to work having already bathed and changed into her newest outfit.
A deep red nightdress which fit surprisingly well. It was a somewhat disturbing realization considering no one ever measured her. Everything was already laid out when she returned from the slaughter. It was, however, a bit disconcerting seeing her room upturned. The chaos of it all, the drawers left open, her patricidal garb was rifled through, the sheets bunched into piles; a tornado passed through there and Fauna had yet to identify the storm's name.
Strange that the maids had yet to take her clothes but considering their horrific state, Fauna wasn't surprised if they were too afraid to touch them. That or they were too afraid to do anything that may set her off. It didn't matter though, this wasn't the first aggressively weird thing to happen in the castle. The only thing she cared about was her knife anyway.
And, perhaps a little bit, her current task.
With no thimbles or fingerguards, Fauna carefully sewed a hole in the handkerchief. The others had been cut by her knife with precision, loosening the shoddy stitching, before being patched with yellow string. Fauna had been lucky enough to catch the attention of an anxious, speedwalking maid to ask for the supplies. Even without the blood crusting her body, she still scared people off.
Good.
In and out, the pinpoint blade went. She didn't know Cassandra for very long at all and she still didn't like her but broken things -treasured things- deserved fixing.
Proper fixing.
If you were going to do something, do it right and with thought. That's how she was raised long before the chaos of bloodlust. Fauna's mother had taught her the art of the needle when she fell from a tree, crying, tearing her red dress. She was fine, falls were normal, but the dress was handmade and ripping it was like tearing a hole in her heart.
But her mother had given her that tender look as she appraised the tattered sleeve.
"A little heart for my little heart," Fauna's mother said, holding up the dress for her to see.
A powder blue heart stood stark against the bright red material and Fauna smiled, staring at the cautious needlework.
"Do you want to learn how to do that, pup?" Fauna's mother asked, kneeling to brush her thumb against her daughter's face.
She didn't need to answer, the excitement was plain to see on her face.
All it took was a steady hand and that was that; the ability to renew was marvellous indeed. Fauna scoffs gently at the memory. Now all she did was destroy and take.
Lives.
Blood.
Hearts.
Cutting the thread, Fauna holds up the fixed handkerchief, evaluating her work in full. Little fireflies danced on a yellowing canvas, circling the watercolour brown. Just one more hole to fix.
It was nice to mend something for a change.
Yellow, like Cassandra's pendant, yellow like Lady Dimitrescu's eyes, yellow like the wildfires that consumed everything in their paths.
Yellow like the sun that barely touched the castle, a piece of the sky, given in thread.
Why are you being so nice to that bitch? She wants to kill you, she wants to torture you. What the fuck are you doing? You're supposed to be a murderer. ACT LIKE IT.
Rankling her momentary peace, the thought burst through her mind, reminding her why she needed to steel that stupid, gullible heart of hers. Yasen tried his best to help her with it, but her nature fought nurture. Soft emotions had no part to play in revenge.
They'll be mopping up your blood with that handkerchief, just you wait.
Laying down her tools, Fauna sighed, stretching her bad leg out against the windowsill. The bleeding was stanched after the slaughter but it still hurt pretty badly. Pain brought clarity and with it, the reason Fauna was injured in the first place. She let her humanity in again, that wretched stupid fool. It made her patch up the cloth, made her drop her guard around that behemoth bitch.
It made her weak.
Endure and once you're a real monster, you can leave it all behind.
A soft white light breaks through Fauna's anger, a salve to her bleeding, conflicted heart.
She remembered the recent bliss of the hunteress' moon, the stony journey to the village. Her baptism in blood. The carriage ride was a change of pace, an oasis amidst the sullen wasteland. It could have all been an act to get her to lower her defences. That was still a very likely possibility.
But Lady Dimitrescu's eyes were earnest in the carriage booth, almost tender, as she talked to Fauna, not as a thing to be used, but as an equal. Was such a monster capable of straddling immorality and humanity? If so, what did that make Fauna? She wanted to discard every inhibition just to bite without looking to the moon with ardour. Without feeling anything.
Her poison is spreading. Don't you dare forget that hate.
The bloodied handkerchief Lady Dimitrescu gave to her sat next to the sewing kit; thin, black floral embellishments ran up and down its sides.
She remembered the pain in full, remembered the handkerchief, remembered those gentle eyes and polite banter.
All an act.
With a sure hand, she brought the sewing kit to rest on top of the matriarch's handkerchief, shielding her from the sight of that carriage ride. All of her emotions broke the surface, fighting away the darkness in her heart, refusing to be put down like some old dog. She was too candid to force it all back down and she grips Cassandra's cloth in her hand to stem the flood.
A murderer, a beast, a patricidal, blood-drinking maniac raised to kill and enjoy the hunt.
That was who she was and Fauna found herself saying it over and over in her mind, reinforcing her misdeeds, her nature.
Born to feel, raised to heal.
A person can be more than one thing.
Could they really?
Fauna looks at her handiwork.
Ashamed.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Silver light from the window caressed the little fireflies on the sheet square, capturing their flight in stillness. A sign.
You're still alive.
Why did her mother have to keep that thing around? Bela silently pouted, trudging down the halls with her back ramrod straight. The experiment was a miscreant, just a tad less deranged than Cassandra. Anything that disturbed the peace deserved no attention; choosing to melt into the shadows rather than have to bear the noise was how Bela operated.
Though the experiment rarely spoke, she still gave off a silent cacophony as if her head overflowed with thoughts, spilling out into Bela's space, even when the damn thing was asleep. Turning a corner, Bela gripped a wooden cane in her hand, refusing to be held back by the experiment's wounded leg. She would see to her duties and then be off. She would see to the mortal and fulfil her mother's wishes; that would be all. Annoyance stirred Bela into a faster pace; whistling wings of blowflies floated her to her destination with great speed.
She didn't want to interact with the mortal, nothing good ever came out of those things except for blood and violent entertainment.
Are you sure?
Bela ignored the thought with ease.
She had grown accustomed.
With the spare bedroom in sight, Bela closed the distance, forming legs beneath the swarm of flies. Rolling her shoulders, she readied herself in case the experiment decided to lunge. Cassandra had that pesky habit and she wasn't about to take her chances with another beast of her ilk.
Three taps on the bedroom door, her usual greeting made abrupt by her irritation.
"I'm busy." came a muffled voice from behind the door.
Busy be damned! You have things to do too!
Restraining herself, Bela opened the door to see the experiment in the dim candlelight; curtains open, awash with bright moonlight on the windowsill. Fauna's hands plucked and pulled at a cloth, loosening strings only to refasten them. Maroon locks of hair cascaded in wisps around her face as she turned to see the visitor, a messy bun sat atop her head.
"Crazy Yellow or Crazy Green?"
Bela narrowed her eyes, hiding her confusion from the irritating mortal.
Peering through the gentle darkness, Fauna examined the newest she-witch and the pendant around her neck. Scarlet flared from Bela's neck in the candlelight and the answer became clear.
"Crazy Red," she said, before returning to her work.
"You will address me by my name; Mistress Bela Dimitrescu," Bela commanded, her voice clipped in calm anger, "and you will respect me."
Scoffing, Fauna slid the needle in and out of her project, recognizing the sentence from her time in the piano room.
"I see where you get it from, Mama's Girl," she said, thoroughly disinterested.
She never once looked up.
Bustling flies floated Bela towards the experiment, stopping at the window to stare down at Fauna. The mortal was tense from her proximity but unbothered; a gentle loop of yellow thread hung down her wrist like an untidy spool. Bela purses her lips before opening her mouth to speak but stops when she sees her sister's handkerchief in the experiment's possession.
"What," Bela growls, "are you doing with that?"
Fauna finally looks up, her needlework stilling mid-stitch.
"Your psychotic sister threw this at me to, quote, scrub the man-stink off," she says in monotone, "Looks like all of you take after your mother in some way."
Bela narrows her eyes at the experiment before she takes a look at the damage done to her family's property. Her once provoked stare yields at the sight of Cassandra's handkerchief, losing the acrid tinge once careful yellow stitches become clear.
"Have patience, Cassandra," Bela groans, lightly shoving her sister's shoulder with her own, "You're the one who asked me to do it, so shut up and behave."
Cassandra hovers over Bela, staring at her shoddy attempt at stitching her handkerchief together, "You fucking suck at this."
"You're a Dimitrescu so you better watch your damn language!" Bela scolds, trying to keep the needle pinched between her fingers, "I am trying my best as this is not in my repertoire of skills."
Two gloved hands rest on Bela's shoulders as Cassandra peeks over her sister's shoulder, "You still fucking suck at this."
Rolling her eyes, Bela focuses on the stitching, raising puckered welts of thread over each small hole.
"Why can't you just get a new one?" Bela says, annoyed by her ineptitude with the needle, "It's literally falling apart at the seams."
Cassandra breathes slowly, resting her chin on Bela's shoulder, "Because Mother gave it to me…" the middle child falls silent for a moment, a thing scarcely done, "back when I was-"
Her favourite.
She didn't need to say it, Bela already knew; cutting her sister off before the sentence was done. Neither of them could afford vulnerability at that level, especially Cassandra.
She was weak enough.
"I see…Well, be more careful with it from now on. I can't stand doing this every time you make a new hole."
Arms wrap around Bela's neck as Cassandra hugs her from behind, a rare show of fondness, "Thanks, Bela. Even though you suck."
"You're welcome, sister."
A thin smile spreads across the eldest child's face as she pokes the needle through the wrong spot. Bela had to stay strong, for all of them or else there'd be nothing left of the Dimitrescu lineage.
"I'm done," Fauna says, snapping Bela out of her momentary lapse, holding up the cloth.
The eldest grinds her teeth lightly, lips pursed, before she takes the handkerchief. The anger bleeds out of her as the cloth lay bunched in her hand and her grey eyes look towards the experiment with a cautious stare.
"Why would you do something like this?" Bela asks, cooling her temper for a brief moment.
Those strange blue-hazel eyes look to the stoic daughter, a shine other than the glaze of death coats them as well.
And, as if things couldn't get stranger, Fauna gave an incredibly small but genuine smile.
"Because it needed a little love."
Blonde eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Bela stared the experiment down, "Have you gone mad and forgotten where you are?" the words are stiff as if fighting her throat, "This is Castle Dimitrescu, a place where no one is safe. Not even you," a crestfallen frown appears for a second before its gone, "This is not a place of mercy or love."
Fauna puts down the needle and thread, crossing her arms before waving a hand at the fixed cloth, "Not a place of love, my ass," though accusatory, she says the words without a bite, "Sure, this hellhole is a hellhole, but that dirty thing was too important for Cassandra to lose," she leans her head back against the windowsill wall, "When you love something enough, you'll do anything and that piece of cloth looks like anything."
Such rudeness blasted out of the experiment's mouth, causing Bela to build up a quiet irritation. The handkerchief crumples in her gloved hand; siphoning the stress from her knotted brow. Time stills as Bela's arm hangs loosely by her side before the fabric is pocketed. Now was not the time for sentimental distractions.
An idea crops in the eldest daughter's head, excusing the indignant behaviour for now.
Just for now.
The experiment spoke in great length, something she would have to inform her mother about. It could be important. Bela hoped it would be, at least. Anything she could do to gain approval, she would do.
Which is why she was hovering by the mortal instead of doing better things with her time.
Bela looks at the human with cold curiosity, a query laying heavy on her vampiric tongue.
"You're not very...normal...are you?" Bela says, another genuine question without the bite of annoyance, resigning her apathy at the question.
A tired chuckle resounds from Fauna as if slipping from her body. Yet another strange occurrence.
"I've never been very normal," she answers, looking away from Bela to gaze at the moon, "but I can't change that. All I can do is make choices hoping it's the right one."
Another sobering look comes across the eldest child as she listened, the words piercing her stone heart in ways she wished never existed.
You can't carry this burden forever.
The wooden cane rolled in Bela's other hand, dancing against her gloved palm.
Leave the mortals in the dirt or you'll crumble like your sisters. Don't do it.
Bela held the cane out for Fauna, a blank expression on her bloody face. A red eyebrow raised at the stick as she stared Bela down.
"If you're going to kill me with that, aim for the temple."
Bela scoffs, opening her mouth to retort before she notices the partial twitch of a smile on the experiment's face. It was joking. That brooding mortal was actually joking.
"Just take this and come with me," Bela says sharply, dropping the cane on Fauna's lap before turning away, "Mother said you need to be fed; the maids prepared something for you. Don't dawdle."
With those parting words, Bela turned on her heel, walking towards the door before looking over her shoulder; a silent gesture for the human to follow.
Sighing, Fauna grabbed the cane, lifting herself from the windowsill with care. Grabbing the leather holster, she readjusts her knife to sit at her hip, just in case.
A wave of calm passes through her body as the weapon takes its rightful place, closing her eyes in relief. When she opens them, however, the moon captures her attention. Following the downward path of the moonlight, she sees the bloody handkerchief stuffed beneath the sewing kit.
"What did I say about dawdling?" Bela calls from the doorway, her pose is militant as she quietly observes Fauna.
She really is her mother's daughter.
Ignoring Bela, Fauna quickly grabs the bloody handkerchief, folding it as small as she could before stuffing it into the holster.
You should be ashamed of your behaviour.
And she agreed, silently, but never once took the cloth out of her knife holder. The action confused Fauna but she shook it off. Bela was practically breathing down her neck, even from a distance.
The three-legged walk began as she travelled towards Bela, moving so much faster than she had in a while. Leaving the windowsill behind, Fauna paced behind the eldest child, disappearing into the dark hallway lit by firelight alone.
End Note:
The music box song is Liebestraum no. 3 by Franz Liszt
Alternate Scene:
Lady D: *swatting away bold and italic texts* BEGONE WRETCHED THOUGHTS
Fauna: *stabs text* I do not want to be perceived.
Bela: *resounding upset silence*
